How to trace your genealogy in six crazy steps, annotated:

To spruce up your family tree, add gold stars next to the names of all the cousins you've nailed. [..If you can stand them. It's more like hammered through the door due to sheer annoyance. There's a reason why in breeding is generally repulsive. ]

If you trace your family back six generations, you should arrive at the great-great-great-great grandfather of Kevin Bacon. [ German Moreno can also be quite useful. ]

Keep in mind that entire branches of your family tree can be taken out with a simple Magic Marker. [ Ah yes. Hand me that marker. ]

Go to your oldest living relative and ask him or her about your lineage. Work your way down to the second, third, and fourth oldest until you get to someone who makes some sense. [ I would like to, but it's difficult because there's now suddenly so few of them. ]

Hey, you know who could help you, is the town historical society. They could help you find the location of the original veterans' cemetery before the county was incorporated. You should go there right now. I'll stay here and tell you how the Raiders game turned out. [ Nope, they're of no absolute help. Even if my grandmother's name is on the library and in the streets, the information still runs a bit short. ]

Note to women: In this society, it is unimportant to know anything about your lineage on your mother's side. Just skip it altogether. [This is weird, because I can trace my genealogy easier through my mother's side. I'm matronimic, what can I say. ]

One of the things I would really like to do is to fill in all the branches in my family tree. My brothers and I are generally closer to my mom's side of the family, since that's where we were raised and all. We only see relatives from our father's side occasionally. So if somebody asks me about my family, it will inevitably be my mother's. I specially loved my Memeng --my grandmother -- and how her great great grandfather traded being in the family business so he could start a ferry thing that crosses the Pasig River. He became a banquero not a banker. I could only get hazy details, and heard the same stories again and again. It was painful because I knew there were lots of stories to tell, but she was old and could only repeat those etched vividly in her mind.

My mother had been nagging me to dig up papers from the city hall and the registry, but I've been too tamad to do that. So until I actually get up from my arse and do it, kantogirl will remain rootless. As opposed to ruthlessness, I suppose it's not a bad bad thing.